Truth in Advertising
by nanniships
Summary: When miss-baxter dangles a prompt like this one in front of me, what am I supposed to do? The only real otp question that matters is which one has an oversized shirt with "SEX MACHINE" written on it in impact font and always wears it at the worst times possible? Starts out as T, but might keep going. Who knows...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: miss-baxter on tumblr knows my weakness too well. This might wind up being a multi-chapter... Let me know what you think.**

Truth in Advertising

He'd been so careful. Not a drop of paint had been dripped or slopped onto his clothes or shoes. He and Phyllis had worked companionably on the trim and eaves of her cottage all morning and he hadn't made a bloody fool of himself even once.

He'd been _so_ damn careful. From his tentative offer to help his new neighbor with her painting, to trekking up and down the stepladder like a sherpa tackling the north face of K2, to becoming comfortable enough to smile at her light-hearted teasing and admire the way her hair pulled back in a pony tail revealed the lovely sweep of her cheekbones, he'd swallowed his anxiety and taken one step at a time.

He'd been as careful as anytime ever in his life, because he was determined not to watch in horror as this potential relationship went down in flames of humiliation and awkward small talk.

He was being so careful carrying the pan of paint across the garage in order to clean it that he didn't even _see_ Mrs. Regis' bloody, stupid cat lurking in Phyllis' garage.

One part of his mind wondered idly why cats make noises like damned souls when you lightly trod on their tails while the other part of his mind cringed in horror as he yelled in surprise, jumped three feet, and dumped the entire tray of paint down the front of his clothes and onto the garage floor. He watched the cat flee with murderous eyes.

"Joe?" Phyllis called from within the cottage. She'd gone in to clean up and make lunch for them both. "Are you alright?"

He looked up, alarmed, as she poked her head around the door jam and took in his splattered, dripping state.

"Not really," he replied. Risking a glance at her face, he was relieved to see sympathy and concern.

"Oh, Joe…was it that cat?" At his nod, she winced. "I'm so sorry. It runs in here every time the garage door is open."

"Not your fault," he replied with a game attempt at a smile.

She smiled back, making him forget for a moment that his shoes made squishing noises every time he shifted his weight.

"Well…" she said, looking around the garage appraisingly. "You may be in luck."

"How so?" he asked, pulling his shirt away from his chest and grimacing at the cold, sticky paint that had soaked through.

"It's only latex, so it should mostly come off," she said brightly. "And I've got a box of clothes over there…" He followed where her finger pointed to a stack of unopened boxes stacked neatly in the corner. "…that belonged to my brother. He can't be arsed to come get them, so if you'd like to use some, you won't have to trek back to your house through the neighborhood covered in paint."

Joe looked more than a bit alarmed at the possibility of stripping down in her garage. Phyllis' mouth twitched in a smile, then she walked over to the boxes and began to scan the labels.

"Here we are," she said, shifting boxes until the one she sought was accessible and setting it down near the puddle of paint at Joe's feet. "I don't know what all is in there, but surely you can find _something_ to wear temporarily."

"Er… where shall I…how do you think…?" he asked, glancing out of the open garage door at the cars going slowly past on their street.

"I'm not going to make you change in the garage, Joe," she said reassuringly. "Roll up your pants, take off your shoes, fetch that box upstairs and shower up. And be quick about it…lunch will be ready soon."

He stood with his mouth open a moment at the thought of showering in her house, but when she gave him another smile and an impatient flap of her hand, he bent to loosen the laces of his trainers.

"There'll be towels and such in the washroom," she said over her shoulder as she went back up the steps to her cottage.

He looked up to thank her, but she'd already shut the door behind her. Biting his lip in consternation, he stepped out of his shoes and away from the puddle of paint. Rather than fetch the whole box upstairs, he peered in the top and pulled out a pair of Bermuda shorts and a white t-shirt.

Phyllis continued chopping vegetables in the kitchen, waiting to hear the door open. She smiled broadly as the image of Joe - furious, anxious and an absolute mess - came to her mind again. She cocked her head as she heard the door from the garage creak softly, but didn't turn to watch him creep silently by. After a few thumps and some muffled swearing, she heard the rush of the shower start up.

If she didn't think it would scare him out of his wits, she'd have gone up to make sure he had found everything he needed….

If she had gone up, she'd have been treated to the sight of Joe standing in the middle of the washroom as the mirror began to fog over, staring glumly at the state of his boxers. Gingerly, he peeled them off and chucked them on the pile of saturated clothes. The heat of the water made him yelp when he first stepped into the shower stall, but he gritted his teeth and began to mercilessly scrub the paint off of his body and hair, taking his mind off of the sting by entertaining an improbable fantasy of Phyllis joining him in the stall…

The water ran on and on, and Phyllis began to get impatient. Checking the heat under the pot of pasta, she turned it down and went up the stairs to stand outside of the washroom door. Steam escaped from the bottom.

"Did you drown in there, Joe?" she asked loudly. There was a scuffling noise and she was rewarded with a loud thump, as if he'd lurched against the side of the shower enclosure, followed by a muttered _"Bloody hell!"_ "Need any help?"

For a moment, Joe was tempted to holler that he did. Only for a moment. He'd gotten soap in his eyes and had been groping for a flannel when he'd heard Phyllis just outside the door. His efforts to scrub the paint out of his hair had mostly been unsuccessful and the water was starting to go cold.

But the thought of Phyllis Baxter standing five feet away from him, with only a two inch door between them, while he staggered around naked in her bathroom was as disconcerting as it was exciting.

"I'm fine!" he yelled back in a shaky voice that didn't exactly reassure Phyllis.

"You sure?"

"Yeah! I'm nearly done!" He ducked back under the spray, which was rapidly going from tepid to frigid, with some relief and prayed that she would head back downstairs soon.

"Alright, then," she said doubtfully. "Lunch is nearly ready." Slowly, and with several dubious backwards glances, she made her way back down the stairs.

Joe breathed a sigh of relief and turned off the water. Shivering, he toweled off vigorously and scrubbed a clear spot on the mirror to see how he'd done on his hair. The thick, white streaks of remaining paint were not encouraging, and he made plans for a haircut soonest.

Grumbling to himself about how this day that had started with such promise had gone pear shaped so quickly, he pulled the borrowed shirt over his head and slipped into the shorts.

Going commando turned out to be the least of his problems.

Phyllis heard the washroom door creak open as she was putting the finishing touches to the sauce bubbling on the stove. She waited for Joe to join her in the kitchen, clean and hopefully in the mood for lunch.

"Phyllis…?" he called from the upstairs landing.

"Yeah?"

"Um, your brother…he's a big bloke?"

"I suppose he is," she replied with a surprised tone. "He's my baby brother, though, so I never think of him as big."

Joe sighed so heavily that Phyllis could hear him from the kitchen. She restrained herself from marching to the foot of the stairs to see what he was on about.

Clutching the waistband of the shorts that threatened to slide off of his hips, Joe mused that "baby brother" had to have at least five inches and fifty pounds on him. He cinched his hastily cleaned belt as tightly as he could, but the shorts wobbled uncertainly on his hipbones, making him very conscious of his lack of underthings.

And when he saw the graphic image on the front of the shirt, he very nearly punched himself for not paying more attention to the clothes he'd fished out of the box.

Joe took the steps slowly, hoping to stall Phyllis discovering what a prat he looked in her brother's clothes. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door bell rang.

"Can you get that, Joe?" Phyllis yelled from the kitchen. "I'm draining pasta."

Hoping it was someone who could be sent off, Joe cautiously opened the front door a few inches. The older woman standing on the step looked at him curiously.

"Can I help you?" he asked, looking at her hand to see if she was holding a tract.

"You can tell me who you are and why you're answering my daughter's front door," she replied pleasantly.

Joe stood frozen, holding the door open as Phyllis' mother raised an inquiring eyebrow at him.

"Is that you, Mum?" Phyllis shouted from the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting you until later." Drying her hands, Phyllis emerged from the kitchen to see Joe peering through the cracked door and her mother held at bay on the steps. "C'mon in," she said, stifling a laugh behind her hand.

Joe stepped back, opening the door reluctantly. Mrs. Baxter paid him little attention until she had come inside and hugged Phyllis. Then both of them stared at him, unable to control their nearly identical grins. Joe felt himself flushing to the roots of his hair as they took in the voluminous shorts and the t-shirt which proclaimed SEX MACHINE in impact font.

"I'll just go gather up my clothes," he muttered. When their grins widened, he opened his mouth to correct any misunderstanding. Then wisely closed it again and slunk up the stairs. Phyllis and her mother's voices came up clearly through the heating grate in the floor of the upstairs landing.

"He seems nice," Mrs. Baxter said. "Artistic, is he? With the paint in the hair and all?"

Phyllis laughed. "Joe was helping me paint the trim on the cottage and had a bit of an accident."

"So _that's_ Joe…" Mrs. Baxter looked at her daughter with a speculative smile.

"What? What's that look for, Mum?"

"Is he then?"

"Is he _what_?"

"A sex machine?"

Joe leaned heavily against the wall and wondered how badly it would hurt if he hurled himself out of the washroom window. With any luck, he'd land on that bloody cat…

"Mum!" Phyllis replied indignantly. "You ought to know those aren't his clothes. You've seen them on Gaz often enough."

"You didn't answer my question," Mrs. Baxter said smugly.

"Well, I don't know, do I? And it wouldn't be your business anyway! And don't you embarrass him."

"At least tell me if you have any intention of finding out if that shirt represents truth in advertising…"

"Mum!"

Heaving a deep sigh, Joe decided he'd hidden upstairs as long as he could. Tucking his clothes wrapped in a towel under his arm, he walked down the stairs, pausing at each one as if he was heading for his execution. He cleared his throat as he approached the door to the kitchen, wondering if his presence would make any difference at all to Phyllis' mum.

"There you are!" Phyllis said over loudly when she saw him peer around. "Lunch is ready and my mum was _just_ going," she finished with a glare at her mother, who simply smiled at her and winked at Joe.

"You're right," she said. "Must dash."

"Don't leave on my account," he stammered, trying to smile pleasantly but only managing to conjure up a miserable grimace.

"No, she's got lots to do today," Phyllis informed them both.

"It's been….um, lovely to meet you, Joe," she said as Phyllis herded her towards the door.

"Likewise," Joe said weakly.

After a few low words on the step, Phyllis shut the door firmly behind her mother and turned to smile at Joe.

"I'm sorry about my mum," she said apologetically. "She's not got the best…filters. I wish you could have met her under different circumstances. She's a bit much to take at first."

"Ah..well… she didn't exactly, um, meet me at my best," he said, waving his hand at the shirt. "Maybe I should just…um, go…"

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't," Phyllis replied softly. "I was looking forward to lunch with you. And at least let me throw these things in the wash for you."

"You were? I mean, even after all this?" He chuckled awkwardly as he handed her his clothes. "I should think you'd be delighted to get rid of me before I trip over a carpet runner and set your dining room on fire, or something."

"Don't be daft," she replied, taking his arm and leading him into the kitchen where she threw his clothes into a basket next to the washer. "I'll just get this plated up, and we'll eat."

"Should I, maybe, see if there's something in that box that might be…more appropriate?"

Phyllis let a snort of laughter and swept her eyes over the shirt. "Knowing Gaz, there isn't likely to be anything much better in there. I should have thought of that before I offered them to you."

Thrusting a basket of garlic bread into his hands, she led the way with the plates and told him to sit down. They sat in silence for a moment as Joe tried to think of something to say.

"If its making you uncomfortable, Joe, feel free to just take the shirt off," she suggested after he'd made several attempts to begin a conversation.

He stared at her before breaking into a laugh. "Well, that gets us past the awkward small talk."

"Good," she replied with a smile. "I was hoping we would."

"So was I," he admitted.

Conversation became a great deal easier after that, and lasted through the washing up and into the afternoon, until Joe reluctantly decided he'd better get home.

"Thanks again for all your help, Joe," she said as she walked him into the garage to get his trainers.

"My pleasure," he replied sincerely. "I'll get these clothes back to you as soon as I can."

"You can keep them," she replied with a teasing smile.

"When would I ever wear them?" he laughed.

"The next time my mother comes over?"

He laughed harder. On impulse, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. But when he turned towards her in surprise, she didn't let that stop her, gently capturing his lips with hers. He returned the kiss eagerly.

"Shall I call you?" he asked looking hopefully at her.

"Yeah…. Do," she said, reaching out to grasp his hand and squeeze it. "I look forward to it."

He left with a smile and a far away look in his eyes. Phyllis watched him pick up his trainers and track barefoot through the puddle of paint on the garage floor without seeming to notice. She grinned in delight and shook her head as she watched him wander off towards his house, clutching the waistband of the shorts, leaving white footprints behind him, and completely ignoring the stares their neighbors were giving his shirt.

"Oh, I think I'm going to enjoy finding out if there's truth in advertising," she said to herself as she went back inside and closed the door.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't like his house was filthy. As he was the only one living there, it never got too out of control. But his absent-mindedness ensured that he spent a great deal of time searching for items he'd just had to hand. So it wasn't unusual to find books stacked in odd places next to the tea mugs he was forever chasing down. There were several piles of important mail spread across his dining room table. His clean laundry hadn't yet made it up the stairs, and there was an unfinished 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle of a tragic storm at sea on his coffee table that he'd begun in a fit of depression when his last New Years date fell through.

It took a great deal to impinge upon his well developed tolerance for clutter. In fact, it took a missed call from Phyllis that left him frantically searching for his cell phone, that made him realize that, perhaps, _something_ ought to be done.

By the time he had tracked down his phone, which had gotten shut into the cutlery drawer somehow, the call had gone to voicemail.

 _Hey Joe….it's Phyllis. I was wondering…well, if you liked theater? They were giving away tickets at work to some production playing over in Ripon, some sort of dinner theater, which I'm sure has the potential to be either wonderful or a nightmare…. I rather doubt you'll be interested after that, but if you'd like to take a chance, I've got tickets for the 7pm show on Saturday. I know its short notice but, um…ring me back if you'd be interested…Bye._

Joe had promptly rung back and left a message that he'd be delighted to accompany her to enjoy some potentially sketchy dinner theater. Then he went straight to the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall and circled Saturday, the 12th, approximately sixteen times with red ink. His eye fell on the thin sheen of dust covering every piece of furniture he owned and he began to panic.

Something, clearly, had to be done. And he had…. as he checked his calendar to be certain…two days to accomplish it.

One day actually, unless he took a day off of work.

His excuse was not universally believed, but no one was all that fussed about it. His immediate supervisor said she'd better see proof of a dermatologist visit, but Joe was confident Sarah O'Brien would forget all about it by the time he returned.

He hoped, anyway.

But he had to do something about this house before Phyllis saw it. He'd managed to see her twice so far without her seeing the inside of his home, Once they'd gone to a cricket match, where he'd spent two hours expounding incessantly about the relative merits of the bowlers and the spiritual experience of a boundary six. When he began to talk about the finer points of the cover drive, she had finally had enough, grabbing his face and kissing him until he completely forgot the batting order. He had no idea who won.

The other time, they'd met at the cinema after work, hoping to see Jurassic World. Phyllis had confessed that the original movie had convinced her that raptors could open the screens on her windows at night and she had spent several sleepless nights grimly clutching her younger brother's Scout hatchet, determined to go down fighting. Unfortunately for Joe's plans of offering to sleep over to protect her from prehistoric threats, the movie was sold out. They watched a confusing and obnoxious movie about a giant, talking, rather profane Teddy Bear instead. At least the time spent afterwards tearing the film apart over a glass of wine had been amusing.

Whether or not the dinner theater was brilliant or a bust, Joe knew he would enjoy it, because he was with Phyllis. And since Phyllis was coming to the house to pick him up, he was determined to spruce it up enough to not be another embarrassing topic of conversation.

It was with a great deal of satisfaction that he surveyed the downstairs which gleamed brightly and smelled strongly of polish and bleach. Other than ensuring that the loo, at any rate, was spotless, he hadn't had time to tackle the upstairs. And as he hauled himself up the stairs, hand placed in the aching small of his back, he weighed the pros and cons of neatening his bedroom.

The con was that he was exhausted already, and what were the chances that she'd see his bedroom.

The pro, of course, was that she might see his bedroom….

As he stood in the door to his room, scanning the clothes on the floor, the bed that looked like a herd of antelope had run across it, and the collection of books piled around the chair next to the widow, he had just about decided to say to hell with it and run out to pick up a curry. He sniffed at his shirt skeptically, wondering if it was worth it to shower up just to go down to the corner for some take away.

The brisk knock at his door took him by surprise. He went back downstairs and threw the door open with an impatient growl.

"Well, hello!" he exclaimed when he saw Phyllis standing on his steps, happy to see her in spite of his confusion.

"Hi, Joe," she replied hesitantly, sweeping her eyes over his bare feet, track suit pants and t-shirt.

Joe grinned and was about to invite her in when it struck him that she was quite well turned out. Quite well. In fact, she looked bloody gorgeous in a sleeveless black dress that ended just above the knee and black heels that made her legs go on just about forever, in Joe's opinion. He remained in the doorway, staring at her legs until she cleared her throat.

"Oh…oh, sorry," he stammered. At her amused look, he took a step back and waved his arm to indicate she should come in. She came in just past the entryway, treading carefully past his boots and umbrella leaned against the wall.

"You look incredible," he murmured as he watched her look around his front room curiously. She turned to look at him with a touch of bewilderment in her expression.

"You _don't_." At his startled look, she continued: "Did you forget about tonight?" There was disappointment in her voice.

Phyllis stood uncomfortably in Joe's house, having taken an unusual amount of trouble with her outfit, beginning to get a bit ticked off at his gormless expression. Maybe he really hadn't wanted to go watch live theater with her, but he could have, at least, _told_ her that.

"Tonight?" he echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, tonight," she replied, irritation creeping into her voice. "You rang back and left a message saying you'd like to go with me on Saturday. Did you change your mind?"

"What? No! I haven't changed my mind, Phyllis. But Saturday is tomorrow, the 12th. Today is the 11th…" He trailed off as she looked at him like he was babbling nonsense.

"Joe…" she began.

"I asked for today off from work," he went on, a little desperately, "so I could, um…clean the house up a little. It was…well, it needed some work."

Phyllis continued to stare at him. "But you don't work on Saturdays, Joe."

"Today is the 11th," he replied.

"Yes it is," she confirmed. The corners of her lips were beginning to twitch.

"Saturday is the 12th," he said stubbornly. "Here…wait…"

Phyllis watched him hurry into his kitchen. He reappeared a moment later with a wall calendar, which he thrust into her hands.

"See?" he demanded. "I haven't lost my mind, Phyllis."

Phyllis glanced at the calendar, smiling when she noticed how many times he had circled the date. She wrinkled her brow at the month page, then flipped it around to look at the cover. Her head snapped up, and she began to chew her bottom lip as she fought against the tide of giggle that threatened to erupt.

Joe watched her struggle to contain herself and felt that he'd been a little rude about the whole thing.

"I don't usually use the wall calendar, but I wanted to make sure I got everything in order before our…our date tomorrow."

"I can see that…" she began.

"I lose track of dates all the time, so it's kind of a relief to know I'm not the only one," he said, smiling tentatively at her.

"I'm sure the calendar would be very helpful Joe, if it were still 2014," she replied. Her attempt at a deadpan expression was doomed to fail as soon as his expression changed from one of slight smugness to one of shock and dawning horror.

Joe snatched the calendar out of her hands and flipped it over frantically. He winced when he saw that Phyllis was correct.

"No wonder it was on the bargain table," he muttered helplessly.

Phyllis could hold back her laughter no longer. She clapped her hand over her mouth and tried to stifle it when Joe looked at her with a hangdog expression.

"Shit," he hissed, slinging the calendar at the nearest bin and missing it by about three feet. Phyllis' whole body shook with laughter.

"I'm sorry, Joe," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "I'm sorry. It's just…you were…" She was unable to continue as the giggles got the best of her again. When he groaned and sat down heavily on his sofa with his head in his hands, she tried again to stem her amusement.

"It's not as bad as all that," she tried to reassure him.

"Yes it is," he replied in a hollow voice. "I asked for today off and I already had the day off. And my supervisor didn't say a bloody word to me about it when she approved it."

"Oh, I imagine she said something about it. Probably not until you were out of the room, though…"

Joe lifted his head just enough to glare at her with one eye. She lost it again at his expression, flopping down on the sofa next to him and throwing back her head in laughter. As he watched her helpless mirth, his pained scowl smoothed out and his eyes began to twinkle. It was lovely to watch her laugh so uninhibitedly, even if it was at him. She was listing sideways on the sofa, leaning against him as she wiped her eyes, and he put a cautious arm over her shoulders.

"Oh _God_ , Joe…" she sputtered as she tried to get herself back under control. "I haven't laughed like that in ages."

"Well, at least the evening wasn't totally bolloxed up," he said, bravely pressing a kiss against the side of her head.

"Not a bit of it," she replied, reaching out to lay her hand on his chest. "No amateur dinner theater could compare to that."

"You do look lovely though," he said apologetically. "I could get cleaned up and changed quick, if you think we can still make it."

Phyllis turned to smile into his eyes. "Let's not bother. We'd miss most of dinner by the time we got there. And the tickets were going begging anyway. The show will probably be shite."

"Why did you want to go then?"

She rolled her eyes at him and slapped his chest lightly. "Because I wanted another chance to see you in this shirt," she said sarcastically. "Why d'you think, Joe?"

Joe took a quick look down at his chest to read SEX MACHINE upside down and muttered, "Bloody hell."

"So…why did you spend all day cleaning your house, Joe?" she asked mischievously.

"Because I wanted to wear this shirt again," he replied smartly, making her laugh. "It should say STUPID GIT SCREWING UP THE DATES CLEANING MACHINE instead, though."

"Take it off, then."

Joe chuckled until he noticed the challenging gleam in her eyes. Leaning forwards, he kissed her gently. Then after looking at her for a response, kissed her again.

Phyllis' eyes widened in pleased surprise when he kissed her the first time. She was grateful when he pressed his lips to hers a second time, parting them eagerly and running her tongue along his as he deepened the kiss. Her hands went to his hair, shorter than when he'd helped her paint her trim, and held his head as they explored each others mouth.

"Are you going to take it off, Joe?" she asked in a near whisper when they broke apart, resting their foreheads against each other.

Her answer was a teasing smile. She reluctantly let go of his head so he could scoot back on the couch and lift his shirt over his head. He wrinkled his nose at the funk of cleaning products and sweat.

"I should probably take a shower," he apologized. "I'm rather a mess."

"I like it when you're a mess, Joe."

"That's fortunate for me, as that seems to be my default condition…." He trailed off as Phyllis began running her hands over his bare chest and leaned forward to kiss his jaw, just under his ear.

"Did you clean the whole house today?" she asked, inordinately pleased at the shiver that ran through him when she breathed her question into his ear.

"Yes," he moaned, putting his arms around her. "Well, except for my bedroom."

"So…there's one room left that shows the true Joseph Molesley?"

He made an affirming noise and began reclining back on the sofa as she pressed into him.

"Good," she said as she leaned in to kiss him. "You can show it to me after your shower…"

 **A/N- just gonna leave this here... Think I should write another chapter?**


	3. Chapter 3

That dress was a glorious mystery to Joe.

It was tight in so many wonderful places, yet she seemed to move in it with ease. And it didn't impede her ability to push him back against the sofa, her chest pressing into his as she kissed him. Nor did it give up it's secrets.

For all his efforts, he simply had no idea how it came _off._ He ran his hands lightly over her back but felt no zips or buttons. He grasped the back of her neck, tangling his fingers delightfully in her hair, but found no hook of any sort. As she'd shifted to gain better access to his mouth, and to allow her own hands to run over his bare shoulders, he'd even run his hands up her sides, wondering somewhere in that part of his mind that was still thinking of anything other than how incredible it felt to explore her mouth with his if there was a hidden zip somewhere. But there was nothing.

He'd forgotten what he was looking for anyway when his fingers splayed against the side of her breasts and she moaned into his mouth.

Phyllis would have been smiling broadly at his efforts to decipher the dress if her mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. His response to her kisses was keeping her too busy to make notes of where his hands had been going, but she most certainly enjoyed the paths they were taking. When she felt his hands move slowly up her sides and his fingers caress the side of her breasts, she felt she was discovering a whole new side to Joe.

One she greatly approved of.

Her moan seemed to do something to him. With a gasping, breathy moan of his own, he reached around her to pull her closer to him, kissing her neck down to the strap of her dress. They teetered precariously on the edge of the sofa. Joe was too lost to notice, but Phyllis put one foot down firmly on the floor and pushed back from him, breaking the kiss.

"Slow down, Joe," she gasped, smiling at the disappointed growl he made as he grasped for her. "Unless you want us to wind up on the floor…and I would prefer your bedroom, to be honest."

"It's a mess," he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to regain some semblance of self control. He opened them when Phyllis made a scoffing kind of snort. "No, really…it's a total pit. I'm embarrassed by it."

"You'll just have to distract me to the point that I don't notice," she said, sitting up and offering him a hand.

"The bed isn't even made," he protested as she levered him up. Although momentarily distracted by the way she stroked her hands up and down his arms, he thought it might be a good idea to elaborate. "There's clothes all over the floor and stacks of things everywhere—"

Tiring of his recitation, Phyllis put a quick finger against his mouth, then replaced it with her lips. When she pulled away with a soft smack, he was satisfactorily quiet.

"Are the sheets relatively fresh?" she asked him.

Joe nodded, eyes full of her smile even as he tried to calculate the last time he'd done laundry. Phyllis thought he still looked rather anxious.

"Joe? You seem a little uncomfortable about this." She sat back and took his hand in hers. "I don't want…I could just go…" She bit her lip and looked down at the floor, not seeing his eye widen in alarm at the prospect.

"No! I mean…" Phyllis looked up at his near shout, her heart beating a little faster. "I mean, you don't need to go. I don't want you to go," he assured her, squeezing her hand. "I'm not _uncomfortable_. I'm just a little…overwhelmed."

She smiled a little at that. "Too much?"

She expected him to stammer something endearingly amusing in response. So she was taken by surprise when he put his other hand up to her cheek and slowly moved it into her hair.

"Not too much," he said absently as he concentrated on the way her hair slid between his fingers, "but maybe more than I hoped for." At her curious look, he smiled self consciously. "Do you know what I was doing when you knocked on the door?"

Phyllis shook her head, pressing into his hand as she did. Joe trailed his fingers down the back of her neck, distracted by the way her eyes darkened.

"What were you doing when I knocked on the door, Joe?" she finally asked, closing her eyes.

"I was standing in the doorway to my bedroom, weighing the odds of you seeing it, and deciding it was safe to leave it as it was and go get some dinner."

He watched as her eyes popped open and she gave him an amused look.

"And then I showed up _early_ and skewed your odds by seducing you on your sofa?"

Joe shivered at the way she said _"seducing you on your sofa."_

"Um…yeah." He looked into her eyes. "I daydream a lot, Phyllis, but I'm not the sort of bloke who ever thinks it might _actually_ happen."

"Joe…" she began, reaching for his cheek.

"So, my bedroom is a mess, but the last thing I want you to do is _go,_ " he finished.

"I'll stay then," she replied, "because I don't give a toss about your bedroom."

"Then I'll shower," he said, a smile stretching across his face.

Phyllis held onto his hand as he stood up. He smiled down at her as she tipped her head to one side and looked at him with a mischievous smile.

"So…you've been daydreaming about us?"

His smiled widened, but he didn't answer. Phyllis stood up with his help and followed him to the foot of his stairs.

"I won't be long," he said as he began to go up.

"Don't be," she ordered. "And Joe…?" He turned to see her watching him with shining eyes as she smoothed down her dress. "It comes off over my head…like your shirt. In case you were wondering…"

Reaching down to grasp the hem and slowly lifting it up her body was all he could think about as he took the fastest shower of his adult life.

Phyllis sat down to remove her heels, listening to the thumps and bangs upstairs as evidence of his haste with satisfaction. Sooner than she would have thought, the rush of the water ceased, and she heard the door open to his washroom.

"Should I shave?" he called down.

She remembered how the faint stubble on his chin had rasped against her skin while he had kissed her neck and wondered how it might feel in other locations.

"Please don't," she replied, making her way to the bottom of the stairs.

Joe looked at his reflection in the steamy mirror and shrugged. He'd just reached for his comb when he heard her footsteps on the stairs.

"It's just going to get mussed up again," she said from the landing.

"Eh…what?" he blurted, spinning around to the door and clutching the towel he had wrapped around his hips to keep it from sliding open.

"Your hair," she explained, walking towards the door and following the drops of water as they dripped down his chest and stomach into the towel. "I have every expectation of mussing it up."

Joe could hardly breathe as she stared at him. He wondered what to do if she reached out to tug at the sloppy knot holding the towel up. Then he wondered how he could convince her to do just that. Dropping the comb onto the clothes he'd scattered across the floor, he stepped into the cooler air of the corridor. At his shiver, she stepped close enough to reach out and lightly touch his chest, running her fingers over his nipples.

"Did you daydream about this?" she asked, stepping even closer and pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat.

Joe closed his eyes and made what he hoped was an affirming grunt. He started to reach around her, but stopped when he realized how wet he still was.

"It's alright…go ahead," she encouraged him as she continued kissing him slowly down his chest. "It's coming off in a bit anyway, isn't it?"

Joe gathered her to him, his head reeling at the sensation of his wet arms and legs touching hers. They kissed hungrily in the corridor, the dark fabric of her dress growing even darker with the moisture from his body. She couldn't wait to have it off.

Phyllis slid her hands down his damp back and under the edge of the towel. It loosened and Joe abruptly reached down to grab it.

"Sorry," she apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright. I just wasn't expecting… but I don't mind… um, don't let me stop you…"

Phyllis smiled as he stammered and wrapped one hand around his neck to pull him in for another kiss. The other hand moved between them and began tugging lightly on the knot in the towel, intentionally brushing against his growing arousal.

Joe drew in a sudden, sharp breath as the towel dropped to the floor and the chilly air hit his backside.

"Ahhh _God_ , it's cold out here. My bedroom…can we…?"

At her nod, he moved them towards the door to his room, leaving the towel where it lay. He flung open his door and hustled them in.

Phyllis watched in appreciation as he stood for a moment in the middle of the room, seemingly forgetting that he was stark naked, frowning at the messy bed.

"Joe," she said softly, "will you please just forget about the mess and come here?"

"I'm not worried about the mess," he protested with a smile, reaching for her hand and pulling her against him. "I was just trying to decide if it would easier to get your dress off if you were lying down, or standing up."

"Definitely standing up," she responded with a laugh.

"Oh, I don't know…." he mused, holding her hips and bunching the fabric up in his hands. "I have some thoughts on the matter."

"You think too much sometimes, Joe," she said, pressing closer to him and wiggling against his erection as he slowly scooted the dress up over her hips. "Just take it _off_."

Joe stepped back slightly and locked eyes with her as he lifted the dress higher. Finding nothing but encouragement in them, he drew the dress up and she lifted her arms so that he could slip it over her head. As soon as he dropped it to the floor, she reached around to undo the clasp on her bra.

Before she could shrug the straps off of her shoulders, Joe had leaned forward to kiss her neck and collarbone while guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. He sat next to her and ran his index fingers under the straps and nudged them to drop down her arms. She arched her back with a surprised little cry when his hands took the place of the fabric and cupped her breasts, gently massaging her nipples with the palms of his hands.

"You've been daydreaming to good effect," she managed to say before he pulled them both down to sprawl across the bed. She could taste his smile as he kissed her deeply.

"No dreams of mine were as good as this," he mumbled. "Not even the…."

"The what?" she asked, running her hands through his hair as he kissed his way down her neck. "Ahh… _yes_!" she cried as he ran his tongue across a nipple and took it into his mouth.

"I'll tell you later," he said, voice muffled.

"Now it's all I'll think about," she protested, laughing and twitching when he ran his hands over her belly and hit a ticklish spot.

"You think too much sometimes, Phyllis," he replied, lifting his head and grinning at her.

Her indignant response was lost in his mouth as he leaned back up to kiss her. And any further response she might have wanted to make, she forgot when he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her knickers and had them down by her knees before she could do more than gasp. She kicked them the rest of the way off. When he moved his hand between her thighs, she reached down to grab his wrist.

"Before I get too much more carried away, do you have something, Joe?"

"Something? What…? Oh…." He grimaced when it dawned on him what she was asking. "Um…I might in my top drawer. But I don't know…do they come with an expiration date?"

Phyllis broke into laughter and raised upon her elbows. "Probably so."

Joe didn't find the situation as funny as Phyllis did. In fact, he was starting to feel a bit desperate.

"I've got some down in my clutch," she reassured him.

"Always prepared? I thought that was just for Boy Scouts," he asked, inching his fingers up her inner thigh again.

"I had high hopes for tonight," she replied tartly. "and just for that, you can run downstairs and fetch them."

When he opened his mouth to argue, she reached down to grasp his erection and mover her hand lightly up and down. He kissed her instead, and when she whispered at him to _"hurry!"_ , accompanying her instructions with a little squeeze, he found himself sprinting down his stairs, fully aroused, trying desperately to find her clutch bag.

She listened to him swear and throw things around his neat front room and had to bury her face in the pillows to keep from roaring with laughter. His cry of triumph echoed through the house and the sound of his feet pounding up the stairs made her hope he didn't fall and do himself a serious injury before they could put the condoms to use.

"You didn't need to bring the whole bag," she said when he burst through the door, panting and gripping her clutch bag like he thought a team of vicious muggers lurked behind every corner.

"God, Phyllis! How am I supposed to think about things like that when I'm in this state?"

"Oh…give it over," she demanded with a laugh. "I'll find them."

"While you're looking, I'll just go back to what I was doing…"

With both hands trying to open the bag, Phyllis couldn't stop him from resuming his self appointed task. Not that she wanted to. But as she writhed under the ministrations of his fingers and his tongue working circles around her nipple again, she found she couldn't concentrate on searching through the bag, small as it was. With a frustrated growl that made Joe chuckle, she dumped the contents out on the bed next to them and sifted through it with one hand while the other held the back of his head.

"Got it!" she crowed, trying to pass him the condom. But when he dragged his finger across a particularly sensitive spot, she dropped it to the bed again.

"Not enough hands," he mumbled into her breast, "You'll have to do it."

Phyllis didn't know whether she wanted to laugh at him or hit him around the ear. Laughter won out until he covered her mouth with his again and moved his fingers faster.

"Oh God," he panted between kisses, "The _noises_ you're making…"

"Don't stop, Joe," she moaned as her hips bucked against his hand.

He didn't stop as she clutched great handfuls of the crumpled up duvet and sheets. He didn't stop until she gripped his wrist again and murmured at him to ease up. He held her as her chest rose and fell, kissing lightly across her neck and up to her mouth.

"I'd like to do this again sometime," he whispered in her ear, making her snort with laughter.

"Cocky. We're not even done with _this_ time yet," she whispered back.

Joe shook with laughter and let her roll him over onto his back. He gazed up at her as she straddled his thighs and reached for the condom she'd dropped earlier.

"Your turn," she said as she opened the package and slipped the condom into her hand.

"You are so incredible," he informed her as she took him in hand and gently rolled the prophylactic on. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Maybe this will help," she said as she lowered herself down onto him, smiling at the way he groaned and closed his eyes.

He didn't stop moaning as he thrust his hips up. She braced over him with her arms to his sides, meeting every thrust with a roll of her hips and sounds of encouragement. When Joe pulled her further down and took her breast in his mouth, their movements became erratic and her moans got louder.

Joe moved faster until he arched his back and thrust up into her one last time, with a loud cry. Phyllis slowed her movements he pulled her down to his chest and held her tightly, muffling her own climax into his chest.

"Don't move," he begged as she shifted her weight. "Please…just stay like this for a few minutes."

"Alright," she agreed, relaxing against him as her breathing slowly returned to normal. He stroked her back and planted kiss after kiss on the crown of her head.

"I don't have any words after that," he groaned as she slid off of him, pushing all the item from her clutch bag off the bed. She listened to everything hit the floor and roll around, but couldn't seem to care about it in the slightest.

"Well," she said sleepily, looking into his face, "the shirt wasn't lying."

 **A/N- I think these guys need another chapter... what do you think?**


	4. Chapter 4

Joe Molesley came with a wide variety of expressions, none of which were particularly cryptic. Over time, Phyllis was convinced that, with her at least, Joe didn't just wear his heart on his sleeve. He had a neon sign on his forehead that indicated exactly what he was thinking.

She'd seen the gamut - from furious, frustrated, anxious, and embarrassed to excited, cheerful and completely besotted. Of all of his expressions, petulant and cranky was the one she liked the least.

If she'd known he was going to bring that one, she'd have thought twice about having him over for dinner in the middle of the week.

But she'd taken a rare half day and had felt like cooking. And, if she were honest, the times they were able to spend together on their weekends weren't sufficient anymore. She wanted more of him in her life, and she was confident he felt the same.

Be that as it may though, she had a sinking feeling that things were going to go pear shaped when he walked in without the fresh vegetables she'd asked him to pick up for their salad and got a bit shirty when she she'd rolled her eyes.

"Look…I'm sorry about the bloody vegetables," he said irritably. "I've got a bit on my mind, Phyllis."

"Bad day at work?" she asked, trying to sound more sympathetic than she was. She had gone ahead and made a homemade vinaigrette dressing for the salad which was fated not to happen and was beginning to feel a bit cranky herself.

"Yeah…kind of," he replied, not meeting her eyes.

She was about to ask him for details when he sighed heavily and walked out of the kitchen into the front room. Tamping down the growing urge to hunt down and bitchslap Sarah O'Brien, she followed to see him siting in the armchair, staring at the wall over the gas fire with a distempered expression. He acknowledged her present with a side eye glance than scrubbed his face with his hand.

"I'm poor company and I should probably just go home," he muttered. "I've got some thinking to do."

"Joe…did you get sacked?" she asked tentatively. When he shook his head, she blew out an audible relieved breath.

"No, they didn't sack me. But they made it abundantly clear that my career is going nowhere unless I transfer—"

"Transfer? Where?" she interrupted. Her stomach pitched like she was in a rapidly decelerating lift.

"Bloody Norwich," he muttered, glaring at the floor. "They've offered me a lateral transfer to a branch in Norwich with a minuscule pay raise."

When she didn't respond, he glanced over at her and watched her wrap her hands in the front of the long blue apron she was wearing. Her face was twisted in thought. As he watched, she dragged her eyes back to his and took a deep breath.

"Well… you _do_ have a lot to think about," she said, trying to infuse her tone with brightness. The effort made her wince and she attempted to turn it into a smile. The voice playing in her head - repeating on an endless loop that four bloody hours away with weekend traffic would put paid to whatever it was they had - seemed so loud to her that she was amazed he didn't seem to hear it.

"They want an answer by end of week so as to affect any change-overs before the beginning of the next quarter," he said in a low voice. "Bloody hell."

"That soon?" she asked, swallowing the quaver in her voice. Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. He brought his own hand up immediately to cover it.

"Well…don't beetle off home, Joe. You'll just sit and brood for several hours, then eat take away at nine o clock, give yourself heartburn and sprain your ankle tripping over Mrs. Regis' bloody stupid cat when you go to throw the box in the bin."

The corner of Joe's mouth turned up at her teasing tone. He thought back to the weekend six weeks before when they had been lying in her bed at one in the afternoon and he'd been making her laugh by comparing his weekends now with how wretchedly he'd spent them before. His stories had gotten sillier and sillier until she had made him admit how he'd really spent his time. She didn't laugh at him then, and the tenderness with which she had kissed him had filled him with hope that he'd never have to dread his time off again.

"Knew I shouldn't have told you about that," he murmured, bringing her hand around to kiss it.

"Stay," she ordered, kissing the side of his head and patting his shoulder. "Dinner will be ready soon."

He watched her walk off towards the kitchen, seemingly unaffected by his news. She made sure she had turned the corner and was out of sight before she leaned against the wall for a moment and allowed her face to fall.

Joe sighed deeply and wished it was still yesterday. Yesterday, he'd met with a bloke about maybe putting his house on the market. Yesterday, he was still trying hard not to smile at everything and everybody, basking in the afterglow of the playful discussion they'd had the previous weekend about how silly it was to have two houses between them when they were in an out of each other's so much it was sometimes hard to remember where he was at.

He'd been looking forward to broaching the subject with more seriousness this weekend, if he found the courage, to feel her out…see if she had been serious….had maybe actually considered it. Now he was sat there in her front room, listening to the clatter of pans and the rhythmic thump of the French knife into the chopping block. And looking into putting his house on the market might have been prescient…but for the wrong, bloody reason.

Suddenly he had to know if any of this bothered her. He sidled casually into the kitchen and watched her back and shoulders work at violently making small onions bits out of larger onion bits. She made a hard, impatient swipe across her eyes and forehead as the onion fumes made her vision blurry. Joe picked up a dish towel from the counter and offered it to her silently.

Phyllis was startled when his hand reached around with the towel, but relieved that she'd actually been chopping onions and wouldn't have to explain that the tears running down her cheeks weren't _entirely_ down to the onions. She took it with a murmured thanks and mopped her face, keeping her gaze on the chopping block.

"Phyllis…what do you think about this? This transfer and all, I mean?" he blurted. Her back stiffened and her chopping paused.

"What do I think?" she began. "Well, it's certainly something to consider. You know…for your career. You should probably make a list of the pros and cons."

"Pros and cons?" he repeated.

"Yeah. For example, you'd be out from under Sarah O'Brien's thumb. You'd have room for promotion. It's reflective of their confidence in your abilities—"

"No it's not," he interrupted. "It's a way to get me out of the way so someone else they've got their eye on can shift in and make good."

She looked at him in mild annoyance. "Isn't it even possible that they might have recognized that you have skills, Joe?"

He snorted dismissively and scuffed his foot on the floor. Phyllis huffed in annoyance and turned back to the chopping block.

"Cons, of course, will be uprooting yourself and having to adjust to a new office…new place. Selling house, finding a decent place to live in Norwich…" She swallowed hard. "You've been here a while. It won't be easy to do, I suppose."

"Won't be easy to do?" he repeated incredulously.

"I wouldn't think so," she said, finally looking at him. They stared at each other, trying to read what the other was thinking in their faces. Phyllis was distressed that, for once, she couldn't seem to read Joe.

"So…you've got a lot to consider," she went on. "It doesn't seem right that they gave you such a short time—"

"So, you think I should go?"

"It's not for me to say, Joe. It's your career…"

"But you see more pros than cons."

Phyllis slammed the knife down on the chopping block and gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.

"What matters is what you see," she said through gritted teeth.

"What you see matters too," he insisted. "You didn't say anything about…about you and me. About us…" He stepped back when she spun around to glare at him. "It's all about 'pros and cons' like we don't even matter."

Phyllis fought the urge to pummel his chest until he backed against the wall and stopped speaking like this. His expression was a combination of miserable and angry that she'd never seen before and never wanted to see again. He dropped his head and looked away from her fierce glare.

"I don't even know what you want…" he mumbled. But not low enough for her not to hear him.

"You didn't bloody _ask_ me what I wanted, Joe! You asked me what I thought. And I _told_ you what I thought." Her voice choked up and she stopped and looked away.

"What do you want?" he asked in a small voice, suddenly terrified of the answer.

"What do I want…?" She looked at him and every intention she had of telling him not put this on her, to bugger off and make his own decisions-and why should she be the one who had to say what she wanted to hear come out of his mouth-disintegrated in the shake of his voice and the dampness of his eyes.

"Don't go. I don't want you to go." His eyes widened and she turned away from his surprise, speaking like her heart was a dam that had been breached by floodwaters. "I'm a thoroughly selfish person. No matter what it does to your career, I want you to stay here. I want you to keep being my best friend, making me laugh and making me strong. I want to keep making love with you every chance I get. I want to keep being frustrated when you don't listen and I want to keep irritating you when I talk over you. I want to keep arguing over who used the last plate and whose turn it is to walk into the chemist's and buy the condoms. I want…"

When she could contain the shaking in her voice no longer and trailed off from her litany of things she'd no intention of saying, he suddenly moved to her and pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his back and they stood in her kitchen, holding each other and saying nothing.

When the timer for the oven went off, she moved reluctantly to let go of him. Joe held her tighter and pulled her back to face him. Whispering her name, he kissed her forehead.

"I'd…I'd better get the chicken," she said, closing her eyes as he moved to kiss her cheek, and then the corner of her mouth.

"Just a moment," he mumbled before parting her lips with his own for a gentle, undemanding kiss. There would have been a second one, but she patted his chest and pulled away to busy herself at the oven.

Phyllis had a hard time meeting his eyes, feeling embarrassed by her flood of words and emotions. But she also had a hard time avoiding them, as he followed her every move around the kitchen. Still…it was a relief to, once again, know exactly what was going on in Joe's head whenever she glanced at his face.

Joe watched her add the vegetables to the chicken and reset the timer, wondering what to say. Or rather, wondering if he should say anything. The nagging feeling that he should _respond_ in some way to her words was slightly stronger than the conviction that he would screw things up spectacularly if he did.

Phyllis shut the door to the oven and watched him open and close his mouth a few times. She couldn't stop the indulgent smile from creeping across her face as she waited for something to come out.

"I talked to a Realtor yesterday about putting my house on the market," he suddenly blurted. At her look of shock, he clamped his mouth shut again.

"You were expecting the offer?" she asked, not bothering to hide her pain that hadn't mentioned it and was preparing to leave. Feeling unsteady, she leaned against the counter.

"What? No!" he protested. "I had no idea it was coming!"

"Then why—?"

"I was just getting an idea of what it might fetch…!" Her hurt and angry expression didn't change. "Oh…God! I knew I'd screw this up…"

Phyllis reached behind her back to untie her apron strings and pulled it over head . She ignored Joe's extended hand, offering to help.

"You couldn't have mentioned that little detail before getting me to say all those things?" she snapped, wadding up the apron and throwing it in his face.

Joe batted it down and reached for her again. "Phyllis….that's not…I'm not…." At her glare, he dropped his hand.

"I'm not taking the transfer!" he proclaimed to her back as she hurried out of the kitchen towards her stairs. "I didn't know they were going to offer it, but I'm not taking it! How could I?"

"Then what are you going on about?!" she yelled, stopping at the foot of the stairs.

"I was hoping for a different offer…"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, just _go_ , Joe," she ordered over his attempts to explain.

"I wanted to talk to you about moving in together!" he shouted as she turned to go up the stairs. She stopped, but refused to turn around and look at him. "We were joking about it all weekend, and it dawned on me that there was nothing I'd like more…"

She gripped the bannister so hard that Joe thought she might splinter it.

"Putting your house on the market seems a little premature, seeing as how we hadn't spoken about it," she replied.

"I was just making inquires, that's all…" he replied weakly, wishing she'd turn around so he could see her face.

"And why assume, if we did move in together, that we'd sell your house?"

"I wasn't exactly thinking things through, Phyllis. It was more like a daydream. And lately, I've been convinced that some of them actually _do_ happen…"

To his great relief, she turned around and came back down the stairs. He began to reach for her, then dropped his arm, standing still as she moved to stand in front of him.

"Let me get this straight…" she began, lips twitching in a hint of a smile. "After a few, joking discussions last weekend, you decide you'd like us to move in together. So rather than talking to me, you talk to a Realtor about the possibility of putting your house on the market the day before you get an offer to transfer to a branch four bloody hours away. And you come pouting over to my house for dinner and talk about the transfer, then happen to mention about the Realtor after I've ripped out my heart and offered it to you."

"You know…it really sounds daft when you put it like that."

"It is daft, Joe! And it's a bloody good thing you didn't blurt that out while I was still holding the French knife…why are you grinning like a fool?"

Joe waved his hand at her chest. "You've got my shirt on."

Phyllis looked down in surprise to read SEX MACHINE over the curves of her breasts and felt compelled to offer an explanation.

"I just grabbed the first shirt to hand when I got home from work—"

"It looks good on you."

"Stop that," she ordered, trying not to smile. "You're still daft and I'm not inclined to let you off the hook."

Joe grinned and reached out to take her hand. "I don't mind being on your hook. I never wanted to leave in the first place." She squeezed his hand and stepped closer to him. "I couldn't leave, now that I know you want me to stay."

Phyllis leaned up to kiss him and Joe wrapped his arms around her back, sliding them up under the hem of the shirt and running his fingers over the small of her back. She grasped the back of his head and deepened the kiss until they had to stop for a breath.

"I think I want my shirt back," he said teasingly. His face grew concerned when Phyllis stepped back suddenly and went to the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, you'll just have to come and get it then, won't you?" she called over her shoulder as she hurried up the stairs.

He had just put his foot on the bottom stair when she called down to him:

"It's your turn to pop down to the chemist's!" He groaned and she laughed in response. "Get a bigger box this time!"

"What about dinner?"

"It'll keep until breakfast. And if you hurry back, I'll make sure I'm not wearing anything but the shirt…"

She'd hardly finished before the front door slammed.

 **A/N- I can't quit these guys. One more chapter, maybe?**


	5. Chapter 5

Phyllis toweled her hair vigorously, still a little disgruntled that Joe had declined to join her in the shower in favor of _finally_ scraping all the paint off the floor of the garage. She'd responded to his comment that skipping the shower with her was his penance for leaving the mess as long as he'd had by rolling her eyes and wondering aloud why _she_ had to pay for his sins as well.

But Joe would not be dissuaded from his self appointed task of trying to repair the destruction that tended to follow in his wake when he embarked on home improvement projects. And that was one of the many things that she loved about him even as it irritated her.

She had just slipped on capris and a t-shirt when the doorbell went off. Muttering to herself, she called down the stairs.

"Joe!? Joe! Can you get the door?"

The only response was another ring of the bell. With a frustrated sigh, she continued scrubbing her hair with the towel and went downstairs to the door.

The large man standing on the steps grinned at her when she threw the door open and immediately picked her up.

"Put me down, you idiot!" she shouted with a laugh, giving him a happy smack across the shoulders

"Phyl!" he shouted as he hugged her. "How're ya going?"

"Full speed ahead, as always, Gaz," she replied, breathing a sigh of relief when her brother finally put her back on the ground. "What are you doing here?"

"What? Can't a brother drop in and visit his big sister?" he asked. "You gonna let me in?"

"C'mon, then," she replied happily.

Beaming as she watched her unexpected brother amble in and begin looking around, Phyllis spared a moment wondering if Joe was finished. She was about to excuse herself to fetch him when Gaz turned to her excitedly.

"So…where's this bloke Mum's been going on about?"

"Mum's been going on about a bloke?"

"Yeah…says she met him when she came by a couple months ago."

Phyllis rolled her eyes, making Gaz grin wider.

"You want a beer, Gaz?"

"That'll be ace, love!"

She fetched Gaz a beer from the kitchen as he made himself comfortable in the dining room. Her quick glance out the back at the garage revealed no Joe. With a shrug, she took the bottle to her brother, who grabbed it eagerly.

"Manners, you sod," she scolded. He just wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and patted the chair next to him.

"Sit down and tell the Gazzer all about it," he invited.

"About what?" she said with a laugh as her brother leaned back and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Well…Mum reckons you've found a chap, since you haven't been down to visit since you moved in here…"

"I've been busy," she protested.

"And she told me to get to the bottom of it all, as long as I was dropping by," he continued. "And I think we'd all be glad to know you've got someone hanging around, cause by the look of things, you've got a serious homeless problem in this neighborhood."

She stared blankly at him. "What are you talking about, Gaz?"

"Just as I was parking, I saw some deranged looking bastard cussing a blue streak, chasing a cat out of your garage and dripping blood all over the place."

"What?!"

"Yeah…he looked a right mess…"

"No…what do you mean 'dripping blood all over the place'?!"

They both jumped as the backdoor slammed.

"Phyllis! What would you say to getting a dog?" Joe's voice, raspy with anger, rang through the house. "A great big one that eats bloody cats!"

Gaz's eyebrows touched his hairline as Phyllis stood up and immediately headed for the kitchen.

"Joe? Are you alright?" she asked as she followed his voice into the kitchen.

"Bloody _hell_! Where do we keep the sticking plasters?"

Phyllis drew in a shocked breath as she saw him standing in the middle of the kitchen, blood dripping on the floor from a large, deep cut on his right calf. Before he could move to continue his search for the first aid, she grabbed the towel she'd used for her hair and knelt down to wind it tightly around his leg.

"What happened?" she asked anxiously as she looked up at him.

"Bloody cat," he muttered grimly. "I was scraping the floor with that big blade tool I bought…." Phyllis shuddered at where this was going. "…and the damn and blasted thing ran between my legs. I pulled it sideways and up, right into my leg."

"This is deep, Joe. You're going to need stitches."

Joe went pale and wobbled a little bit. She stood quickly to catch him under the arm.

"Gaz! Bring a chair in here! Now!"

Joe's eyes widened as Gaz's bulk filled the doorway, carrying a chair from the dining room. Gaz looked wide eyed right back at him.

"Sit down," she ordered Joe, pulling his arm until he sat. "Give me that rubbish bin, Gaz." He obliged and she flipped it upside down, lifting Joe's foot onto it. All three winced as the movement made more blood seep through the towel.

"I'm getting my shoes and running you to A&E," she informed Joe, who raised a token protest that she ignored. "Gaz..this is Joe. Joe…this is my brother, Gaz. I'll be right back…" she threw over her shoulder as she hurried towards the stairs.

Joe and Gaz stared awkwardly at each other.

"So… you're not actually a mental homeless bloke?" Gaz mused. Joe blinked at him in confusion. "Pretty nasty cut, mate."

"Yeah, I suppose," Joe murmured, noticing that Gaz's expression was virtually identical to Phyllis' when she was uncomfortable with something.

They went back to staring awkwardly.

"Hey…." Gaz began as Phyllis rushed back into the kitchen, "is that…is that _my_ shirt?"

"Help me get him into my car, Gaz," she ordered before Joe could reply.

Between the two of them, they maneuvered Joe into the passenger seat. He watched as they minced around the spots of blood on the garage floor and came around to the driver's side.

"Have another beer if you like, Gaz," Phyllis invited, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss her bemused brother on the cheek. "Thanks for the help. We'll be back soon."

Gaz waved as they backed quickly out. "Drive safe! You nearly hit a cat!" he yelled after them.

"Bloody marvelous!" she yelled back as the car sped away.

Gaz looked around at the faces of neighbors who had taken in the whole scene. Most were amused, but the glare coming from an elderly lady who had scooped up a familiar looking cat made him shrug nervously and head back inside for another beer. Or two.

"You're very quiet," Phyllis commented, squeezing Joe's hand as they waited in reception for their turn.

Joe smiled wanly and tipped his head back against the wall. "I was just marveling that I'm always coming across a total prat whenever I meet any of your family, thanks to this bloody shirt. In fact, I'm always a total prat in this shirt."

"I'm so used to you wearing it that I hardly noticed it," she replied with a smile.

"Total prat must be my destiny, then," he groaned.

"Oh please," she scoffed, kissing the side of his head, "I don't think 'total prat' when I see you in that shirt."

"Really," he said doubtfully.

"Not a bit of it," she asserted firmly, making him smile. "It's…it's truth in advertising as far as I'm concerned.

Joe's smile widened as she traced SEX MACHINE across his chest. As he was about to kiss her, a discrete cough from the desk clerk made him jerk back, much to Phyllis' amusement.

"Mr. Joseph Molesley?" she asked, looking from him to her clipboard. At his nod, she gestured to the wheelchair at her side. "If you're ready…"

Phyllis and the clerk helped him transfer to the wheelchair. When Phyllis made to follow, the clerk stopped and held up a hand.

"Family only in the back," she said apologetically.

Joe looked at Phyllis in consternation. "She's my…she's, well…she's family, so to speak…"

"Oh for the love of…I'm his next of kin." Phyllis gave the clerk a good, hard stare as the woman looked doubtfully at her left hand, then perused the paperwork on the clipboard again.

"For God's sake," Joe groaned. "They're gonna have to saw off my bloody leg at this rate. Just let her back…please."

The clerk scowled, then huffed impatiently. "Fine…fine…" She glared at Phyllis. "If anyone asks me, _you_ said you were next of kin, alright?"

Phyllis nodded and put her hand on Joe's shoulder as he was wheeled into a tiny triage room. The clerk double-checked his information, then left with a resigned shake of her head. Phyllis pulled the only chair around to face Joe and sat down, looking squarely at him with raised eyebrow.

"'So to speak'?" she asked challengingly, suppressing a smile.

"Ah..well…I meant…" he sputtered. She cocked her head at him, waiting for him to continue. "I…I didn't know what to say, Phyllis. But I'd have said anything to get them to let you come back here," he finished miserably.

She immediately reached out to take his hand. "It's alright, Joe. I was only having you on a bit." His miserable expression didn't change. " _I'd_ have said anything to get to come back here with you."

He smiled and was about to respond when the curtain between the cubicle and the corridor was thrown back and several folks in scrubs started worming their way inside, chatting to each other.

"If you'll just scoot off to the side a bit," one ordered Phyllis as two others descended on Joe's leg and took off the makeshift bandage.

"Nasty cut, this one. How'd you get it? How long ago? Who wrapped it up?"

Phyllis stood up and flattened herself against the wall. Joe looked helplessly at her for a moment, then tried to answer the barrage of questions being thrown at him as his vitals were being taken.

"It was a sort of..scraping blade. I was trying to get dry paint off the garage floor. Then there was this cat… And, well, I missed the cat…It was a while ago, I think…"

The staff began to glance at each other as he babbled, and one of them stifled a giggle when she got a closer look at his shirt.

"Maybe more extensive blood loss here then it looks," one of them murmured.

Phyllis had had enough by now and pushed through to stand behind the stretcher, putting her hand on Joe's shoulder and dealing out glares to all the staff.

"He's got a great, bloody gash in his leg and I think he's a bit shocky and in pain," she barked. Joe tipped his back to smile at her and put his hand on top of hers. "Maybe you can _give_ him something for that?"

Two of them exchanged glances while the third kept writing down notes with a little smirk on her face. Phyllis smiled reassuringly at Joe before leveling another glare at them all.

"Right…well, we'll see to him," an older woman assured her. "I'm Dr. Isobel Crawley. You must be Mrs. Molesely?"

"Baxter," she snapped, knowing she'd glance around in confusion every time someone referred to her as "Mrs. Molesley." Joe made a little coughing noise and she squeezed his shoulder hard enough to make him jump.

Dr. Crawley smiled and began giving orders to the rest of the staff who had accompanied her into the cubicle. In no time, Joe had an IV running with saline, pain meds on board, and a drape over the cut. His head lolled back against the stretcher and he gave Phyllis a goofy grin.

"I love you, you know," he slurred.

"That's grand, Joe," she said, patting his shoulders. "Now stay still."

"No…I really do, Mrs. Baxter Molesley…"

The young intern debriding the cut under Dr. Crawley's supervision snorted in amusement. Phyllis leaned over and put her head down by Joe's ear.

"You've had a lot of pain meds, Joe," she whispered. "It might be best not to say anything. I don't want them throwing me out."

Joe turned his head so he was eye level with her. He struggled to bring her into focus.

"Can I tell you I love you?" he said in an overloud whisper. "And that you have the most beautiful breasts I've ever—"

Phyllis placed her hand firmly over his mouth and stole a look at the intern, who was working resolutely on Joe's leg and trying not to snicker.

"Tell me later," she whispered, kissing the top of his ear.

"Would you like the chair, Mrs. Baxter?" the nurse asked. "It can't be comfortable bending over like that."

"Thanks!" Sinking gratefully into the chair, she leaned over and ran her fingers soothingly through Joe's hair. Joe shifted restlessly as they continued to work on his leg, letting out a groan that made the intern apologize.

"We're almost done cleaning it up, Mr. Molesley. I can give you some more pain relief if you'd like. We're about to start stitching." He gave Joe an appraising look, taking in the sweat on his brow. "It's going to take a while…I'd guess we're going to need 25 to 30 sutures."

"Yeah…alright," he agreed with a relieved sigh.

"Good choice," Phyllis said in a low voice. "There's no need for any heroics."

Joe chuckled and looked at her cross eyed. "You don't get heroics with Joseph Molesley," he mumbled.

"I don't need heroics when I have Joseph Moelsely," she replied.

"Alright," Dr. Crawley said as she seated herself on the rolling stool and bent over Joe's leg. "It's a bit ragged, and its a bit deep, but we've got it cleaned up and it's just a big sewing job from here on out."

"Phyllis can do it then," Joe said cheerfully. "She's incredible at it."

"I sew theater costumes, not silly sods who slice their legs open in the garage," Phyllis replied with a smile.

"Did I make a huge mess?"

"No more than usual. I think you made quite a first impression on my brother, though."

"That was the big bloke, right?" Joe scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard. "Do you think he liked me?"

Phyllis laughed and bent over to kiss his forehead. Dr. Crawley smiled at their conversation and exchanged amused glances with Phyllis.

"Pretty powerful things, those pain meds," she affirmed.

"I'm sure he'll like you fine once he gets to know you," she assured Joe, who visibly relaxed.

"Good," he beamed before a look of panic crossed his face. "He's not gonna take the shirt back, is he?"

"I won't let him," she said soothingly, biting her lip. "I like it when you wear it."

"I like it better when _you_ wear it," he replied with a cheeky grin, "especially when it's all you—"

"Time to stop talking now, Joe," she said, gently placing her hand over his mouth again.

"Think I'll take a nap then."

"Good idea," she replied, stroking his forehead as his eyes fluttered shut.

"Love you," he breathed.

"Love you too," she whispered.

With Joe dozing, the cubicle was filled with a comfortable silence broken only by the murmurs between the staff and Dr. Crawley's words of instruction for the intern. Phyllis watched Joe smile in his sleep.

"Have you two been together long?" Dr. Crawley asked as she pulled and snipped.

"A couple months," Phyllis replied absently.

"Sometimes that's all it takes," Dr. Crawley commented with a smile. "But you might want to update your files with the next of kin changes before you go."

Phyllis ducked her head and stared at Joe, hoping she wasn't flushing under the doctor's friendly scrutiny. Joe began to frown in his sleep and mutter. She lowered her head to his mouth to listen.

"….the house…won't need…wanna be….pocket…sell bloody thing…"

Phyllis sighed, remembering the conversation they'd had a few days ago about the wisdom of selling his house. They hadn't exactly reached a decision, but Joe had been adamant that he'd rather sell his. When she'd pushed him as to why, he had ducked his head and said that her house was a home, and his was… just a house-a place he'd lived while waiting for life to really start.

"Almost done here," Dr. Crawley informed them cheerfully. "We'll get him a set of crutches-he'll need them for two weeks."

Phyllis winced at the thought of Joe trying to make his way up and down the stairs of either of their houses and vowed he'd sleep on her bloody sofa so she could make sure he didn't hurt himself.

"Crutches?" Joe croaked, blinking his eyes. "I don't like the sound of that."

"We'll manage," Phyllis assured him.

The intern patiently explained the home care instructions as Joe struggled to focus and Phyllis listened carefully. When they were satisfied that Joe could maneuver around without tipping over, they released him in a wheelchair. As Phyllis was carefully steadying him to help him into the car, they heard a shout from the entrance.

"Mr. Molesley! Mrs. Baxter! You forgot to update your next-of-kin information!"

Phyllis sighed tiredly and pushed her hair back from her face. Joe looked at her and gripped the car door while he reached out to cup her cheek in his other hand.

"I'll do it at my follow-up," he informed the harried clerk. "We're all done in here."

Phyllis helped him in, then got in herself. They drove slowly out of the hospital car park. Joe shifted in his seat and moaned quietly.

"I've got some pain meds for you to take at home, Joe. We'll put you right as soon as we get there."

"Yeah…home," he sighed. Glancing at her face as she drove, he took a deep breath. "Will it be your place, then?"

"Where else would it be?" she answered, smiling at the windshield.

 **A/N - Yeah...I'm thinking another one. After all, Gaz has been left getting drunk at Phyllis' house, there's next of kin issues to figure out, and who knows what's going to happen with that shirt...**


	6. Chapter 6

Joe was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

It wasn't the low key throbbing in his leg, propped up on a pillow as he sprawled on Phyllis' sofa, where he'd been parked for the better part of a week, that was the source. Or the growing realization that he'd need the loo soon and the stairs were a nightmare on the crutches. Or the extraordinarily mediocre frozen pizza he'd heated up for lunch.

It wasn't even the rather nasty and insinuating voice mails Sarah O'Brien kept leaving on his phone.

No…it was the fact that Phyllis' brother, Gaz, was still hanging about the place and she was getting right fed up with him. So was Joe, to be honest. And the whole situation had come to a head right there in the front room.

He cringed and squirmed as Phyllis berated her baby brother in a raspy bellow that sounded equally sexy and alarming by turns. Gaz apparently knew better than to try to defend himself under these circumstances. He sat in the recliner with a beer in one hand and a pout on his face, but saying nothing in response to his sister's accusations of dishonesty. After pounding half of the bottle at once when Phyllis stopped for a breath, he found enough dutch courage to speak up.

"I wasn't really _lying_ , Phyl. I never said I _hadn't_ been made redundant!" he protested.

"It's a lie by omission, you gormless pancake! Sitting around on your arse telling me you had 'time off' whenever I'd ask you when you had to get back to work—"

Joe snickered quietly at _gormless pancake_ but otherwise wisely decided to stay the hell out of this conversation. Gaz whipped a quick glare at him.

"I do have time-off. All the bloody time-off in the world…"

"Well, you're not gonna spend it lurking about in _my_ house, drinking _my_ beer, and complaining about _my_ boyfriend!"

"Hang on," Joe chimed in, eyes widening in surprise. "What's all that?"

"I bought a whole case of lager," Gaz protested feebly, glancing nervously at Joe. "And all I wanted to know was when he'd be off the sofa so I could watch a little footie…"

"Out!" ordered Phyllis, glaring at Gaz as if he was a particularly loathsome specimen of insect. "Bugger back off to Mum's and let _her_ deal with your feckless bullshit!"

"That's cruel, Phyl," he whinged. "Mum never buys those toaster tarts that I like."

Joe rolled his eyes and stole a glance at Phyllis. Her eyes narrowed malevolently at her brother and she straightened up to her full height and pulled her cell phone out of her back pocket, flourishing it at her bother menacingly. She looked magnificent.

"What are you doing, Phyl?" Gaz asked with a hint of fear in his voice.

She continued to glare at him without responding and scrolled until the desired number came up.

"What are you…? Oh no! Don't do it, Phyl!"

With a cruel smile, she stabbed the smartphone surface. The burr of the ring was audible through the suddenly silent front room.

"I'm your brother, Phyl! Your _baby_ brother….!"

Joe found himself leaning forward breathlessly, waiting for whomever Phyllis was calling to pick-up and wondering if Gaz was going to break down in tears. This was infinitely better than daytime talk shows, even if he did feel like he was intruding on a family moment.

"Hello?" the familiar voice echoed from the phone in Phyllis' hand. Gaz dropped his head into his hands, narrowly avoiding spilling what was left of his beer.

"Hello, Mum," Phyllis answered brightly, putting her phone on speaker. "You know Gaz?"

"I gave birth to the bloody moose," her mother replied dryly, "so I should think I know him."

"Well, you sent him over to check up on me, and now the little shit won't leave."

"I was gonna start packing up tonight!" Gaz shouted weakly.

"What? He's been there five days? What about his job?"

"Oh…so you didn't know," Phyllis replied, shooting her brother a triumphant glare.

"Know wha… Bloody hell! Was he made redundant _again_?!"

"Of course he was. Not that he bothered to _tell_ me that…"

There was a moment of tense silence. Joe held his breath.

"Put Gary Everton Baxter Jr. on the line, Phyllis," her mother said grimly.

"Oh God!" Gaz moaned. "She's _furious_."

"Your middle name is Everton?" Joe asked incredulously.

"Who's that?" Phyllis' mother asked.

"It's just Joe," Phyllis said, as she threw her phone at her brother. She gave Joe a side eyed glare.

Gaz fumbled the phone for a moment, then gripped it securely and took it off of speaker. "You ought to know, Mum," he began in a confident tone, "that Phyllis has had that bloke move in with her."

Joe looked anxiously at Phyllis who just rolled her eyes and shook her head dismissively. If Gaz had hoped to deflect some of his mother's wrath by his statement, it failed miserably. The blistering response that he should mind his own bloody business could be heard across the room in spite of the fact that the phone was no longer on speaker. In fact, both sides of the conversation were mostly audible the entire time, although Gaz didn't actually get a word in edgewise through most of it.

Phyllis sat on the arm of the sofa and gently ran her fingers through Joe's hair and down his neck as they listened to Gaz's bollocking. He smiled up at her and was relieved to receive a smile in return.

" _Am_ I in the way?" he whispered. "I mean, camped out on the sofa like this all day?"

"Only to Gaz, and I don't give a bloody toss about him," she replied. "I rather like you all camped out on my sofa."

"I like being camped out in your bed better. Pity we couldn't shift the telly up there."

"I don't want you distracted when you're camped out in my bed," she said with a grin that made Joe look miserably at his injured leg.

After repeating "Yes, Mum" approximately forty times, Gaz finally rang off and glared at Phyllis when he tossed the phone back to her.

"Bloody snitch," he hissed.

Phyllis curled her lip dismissively and brought the phone up to her ear. "Still there, Mum?"

Joe could hear her mother's response from three feet away.

"What's this about Joe? You said he'd hurt himself?"

"Bunged up his leg, Mum. I told you that," she answered, smiling at Joe.

"Yeah, but you didn't say it was so bad that he had to stay with you. Is he going to be alright?"

"He should be. Just a bunch of stitches and tottering around on crutches for two weeks. I didn't want him to get hurt any worse than he already is, so I'm keeping an eye on him."

"It's not just her eye she's keeping on him!" Gaz shouted as he stomped out of the front room.

Phyllis heaved a sofa pillow after him.

"So, I guess the Sex Machine has a bit of a knock in his engine…"

Joe flushed a bright red and pulled a cushion over his head.

"Mum!"

"Good on you for taking care of him….especially as he can't _take care_ of you at the moment," her mother replied insinuatingly.

"He can hear you, you know," Phyllis grumped. "And what makes you think he can't take care of me?"

Joe's groan was audible over the phone through the cushion.

"Hah! So you _have_ been—"

"Discussion is over, Mum. Gaz will be along to your flat tonight. Goodbye."

Phyllis disconnected with a flourish, then pried the cushion off of Joe's face and out of his hands.

"Come out of there," she ordered.

"Does your Mum think I'm constantly trying to get into your knickers?" he asked, not meeting her eyes.

"Aren't you?"

"Well, yeah. Of course. But I enjoy doing other things with you as well. I'd spend every minute with you if I could."

"That was a very good answer," Phyllis said with a smile as she leaned down to kiss him gently.

Joe brought his hand up to her cheek and kissed her back. He was about to tug her down off the arm of the sofa when they were both startled by the sound of Gaz's duffle bag being kicked down the stairs.

"Bloody hell…it's like he's been eleven forever," Phyllis muttered, resting her forehead on Joe's before straightening up. "I love him, but I can't wait to see the back of him."

Joe just nodded, certain that if he opened his mouth about Gaz, he'd say something that would get on the wrong side of Phyllis. And after watching her slice her brother into tiny pieces using only her voice, he most certainly did _not_ want to get on the wrong side of Phyllis today.

"Do you need any money for petrol, Gaz?" she asked him as he sloped down the stairs with a scowl.

"Yeah. Ta for that," he muttered, not looking at her.

As Phyllis went off for her wallet, Gaz turned to stare at Joe.

"If you weren't in the picture, Phyl would have put up with me longer," he informed Joe with resigned disgruntlement.

Joe tamped down the sudden urge to apologize and tried not to show how annoyed he was. Apparently, he was less than successful, because Gaz grinned.

"S'alright, Mate. Phyl would rather put up with you than with me any day of the week…"

"Here you go, Gazzer," Phyllis said as she walked over to the entryway, holding out a handful of notes.

"You're the best, love. Really," her brother said, his good humor restored somewhat by Joe's scowl.

"Yeah..yeah," she replied dismissively. "I put a little extra in there for a sandwich or something…"

Joe watched as Phyllis hugged her brother and sent him on his way with multiple admonishments to find a job he could keep. When the door closed behind him, she sighed heavily.

"Are you sure you want to move in with me?" she asked.

"What?! Of course I…why are you asking?" he blurted, his voice going up an octave.

Phyllis laughed and came over to sit next to him. "You'll have to put up with Mum making rude comments and Gaz dropping by for extended visits…that's why."

"I thought you'd gone off me for a second there," he replied with a nervous laugh.

"Not a chance," she assured him. Then she looked at him thoughtfully. "Although, as far as it goes, you've already moved in…so as long as the insanity that follows me around doesn't put you off…"

"Well…" he said, pretending to think about it, "under ordinary circumstances, Gaz might be a deal breaker…"

Phyllis laughed and swatted him on the chest. Joe grabbed her hand and pulled her down to lie next to him, shifting his leg carefully back.

"But there's nothing at all ordinary about any of this," he continued, running the back of his fingers down her cheek.

"Why not?" she asked, drawing in a breath as his fingers continued down her neck.

"Because I love you," he replied, following his fingers with his eyes.

"I know that," she said with a laugh. His eyes snapped back up to her face. "You told me while you were getting your leg sewn up.

"I did?" His face fell and he looked at the sofa pattern with an irritated expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, suddenly anxious.

"I was just hoping to be cognizant when I said it, that's all," he muttered. "And I've been waiting five days for your idiot brother to sod off so I could…" He looked up into her amused eyes and grimaced. "I can't seem to get this sort of thing."

"I'd say you got it just fine. Between you talking nonstop about my breasts and telling me you loved me, I got the gist of your feelings pretty well."

"I talked about your breasts? At the hospital?"

"Nonstop."

"Well," he said, shifting his hand from her neck slowly down her chest, "there's a lot of ground to cover…."

She pressed against him more firmly as he cupped her breast and slid her tongue along his lower lip as she kissed him. He reached around with his other arm and tried to roll her on top of him, stoping suddenly with a hiss of pain as his bandaged leg dropped off the pillow it was propped on and banged into her shin.

"Bloody…stupid…ow!" After a brief scramble, Phyllis backed away to the edge of the sofa, giving him more space. "God…I'm sorry for this."

"It's a bloody good thing I love you too, or I don't know how much longer I'd put up with this nonsense."

They stared at each other silently, both savoring the moment between them.

"I should get busy," Joe said suddenly. "I've got to sell my house, get to clinic for my follow-up, change my next-of-kin paperwork, e-mail Sarah O'Brien and tell her to fuck off in a way that won't threaten my further employment…"

Phyllis watched with a smile as he ticked off each item on his fingers and looked at her with mock seriousness. "Anything else?" she asked when he paused.

"I'm going to need to use the loo in a few minutes."

Phyllis reached for him as there was a loud banging on the door. Joe looked at her in amazed consternation as her brother's shouting on the porch could be heard through the neighborhood.

"Phyllis! Hey, Phyl! C'mon…let me in!"

"Please don't answer that," Joe pleaded.

"I know you're in there! C'mon, Phyl! Joe! I drove all the way back because I forgot my bloody shirt!"

"You've got to be joking me," Phyllis muttered.

"He's not getting the shirt," Joe said firmly.

"PHYYYYYLIIIIIISSS….!

 **A/N: Well, there's another notch in my completed multi chapter belt! Hope you enjoyed them!**


End file.
